Twisted Hate: An Enemies with Benefits Romance

Phase one, complete. 
It was too late to initiate phase two, so I went straight to my room when I
returned home. Thankfully, Stella was already asleep, so I didn’t have to
answer any questions about where I’d been. 
I stripped off my clothes and jumped into the shower, letting the hot
water wash away the sticky film of guilt on my skin. 
It was past midnight. Max had the painting, and Josh would be home in
less than seven hours. 
There was no going back. 
Thick, steamy air clogged my nostrils with each shallow breath when I
pictured Josh’s reaction to the “break-in.”
No. It’s fine. I’m going to return the items, including the painting.
Maybe. Hopefully.
My mind raced as I ran through my scripts tomorrow, both for Josh when
he inevitably tells me about the burglary and for the person whose help I
needed.
My plan was simple, but it hinged half on reality and half on hope.
It would work, though. It had to work. 
There was no other option.

---

43

---

JOSH
S
OMETHING
WAS
WRONG
.
My house looked the same as it had when I left last night—curtains
drawn, the row of plants on the porch lined up neatly against the wall—but
the hairs on the back of my neck pricked up nonetheless. 
I scanned the surrounding area, my senses on high alert. I didn’t spy
anyone lurking in the bushes or pointing a sniper rifle at me through a
neighbor’s window, so I inched toward the porch with caution. 
Instead of using my key, I twisted the doorknob and was only half
surprised when it opened without resistance. 
It confirmed what my gut already knew: someone broke into my fucking
house.
I pushed the door open all the way. My heart banged against my chest,
more out of anger than alarm. I doubted the burglar was still here. Most
thieves broke in during the day when people were at work. If they came at
night, they must’ve been watching me. They knew I worked the night shift
sometimes. 
My skin crawled at the violation. The idea that someone had been
watching me and planning for the right moment to break into my house made
me sick, but this wasn’t the time to dwell on that.
First, I needed to figure out what the hell they stole.
Logic took over, and I called 911 before I did a quick search for missing
high-value items. My TV was still there, as were my PlayStation and the
signed Michael Jordan basketball Ava gifted me for my twenty-third
birthday. The house appeared untouched.
I’d almost convinced myself I was being paranoid and merely forgot to

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lock the front door...until I entered my room.
“Motherfucker.”
Clothes spilled out of my ransacked drawers, bottles scattered half-
cracked on the dresser, and there was a glaringly empty spot on the wall
where my painting once hung. The burglar had destroyed my room.
Hazelburg was one of the safest towns in the country, which was why I
hadn’t bothered to install a security system. Which cosmic force did I piss off
for this shit to happen?
Anger rushed back in a blinding wave as I took another inventory of my
belongings. Surprisingly, my laptop was still there, but my painting,
emergency cash, iPad, and watch were gone. Nothing too valuable, but still. 
The fact that someone had come into my room and rifled through my
belongings without my consent made my pulse spike.
I needed a strong drink and a nice, long session with a punching bag to
alleviate my fury, but I had to wait for the police to arrive first. 
When they did, one of them swept the room for evidence while another
took my statement. A frown creased his face after I listed the missing items. 
“So the burglar stole four items worth a couple hundred dollars combined
and left your laptop?” His words weighed heavy with skepticism. 
I didn’t blame him. I didn’t fucking understand it either. 
“Maybe something spooked them and they left before they could grab it.”
It was the only explanation I could think of. 
“Hmmm.” The officer’s frown deepened. “Okay. We’ll do our best to
find the perpetrator and recover your items, but I want to set the right
expectations. Only thirteen percent of burglary cases are ever solved.”
That was what I figured, but it sounded like he’d given up on the case
before he started. 
“I understand.” I forced a tight smile. “I appreciate any help you can give,
Officer.”
The police left soon after with no leads, taking my hopes of recovering
the items with them. In a week, my case would be sitting at the bottom of
their to-do list, collecting dust.
Somehow, the day got shittier and shittier.
I walked into the kitchen and cracked open a bottle of vodka while I
dialed Jules. There was nothing she could do, but I needed someone to talk
to, and she was the first person that popped into my mind.
“Hey, what’s up?” 

---

My muscles loosened a smidge at the sound of her voice.
“Someone broke into my fucking house.” I poured the vodka into a glass
and tossed the drink back. Its cold burn doused some of the flames of my
anger. “Stole a bunch of shit. The police just left and said they’ll look into it,
but the fucker who did this is probably in another state by now.”
Jules’s audible inhale cut across the line. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah.” I placed the empty glass in the sink and put her on speaker while
I returned to my room. Now that the police had cleared the scene, I needed to
clean up the mess the burglar left. “Lucky you, they took the painting you
hated so much.” I tried to lighten the mood. “You hire someone to break into
my place, Red? Because if you really wanted to get rid of the art, you
could’ve just asked. I would’ve thrown it away for you.” 
“Funny.” Her laugh sounded forced, or maybe that was my lack of sleep
talking. ”Do you want me to come over?”
“Nah.” I wanted to see her, but she had enough going on without dealing
with my shit. “Finish studying. I’ll swing by later if you need a break.”
I didn’t have to clock in for my next shift until late afternoon. 
“Sounds good.” There was a strange catch in her voice. “Josh, I…I’m
sorry this happened to you.”
“It’s fine. I mean, it sucks, but in the grand scheme of things, it could’ve
been worse. At least I’m alive.”
“Yeah,” Jules said quietly. “My prep lesson starts soon, but we’ll talk
later?”
“Yep. I l—” I froze at the word that almost slipped out of my mouth.
“Let’s do that,” I finished lamely.
I hung up, my heart rattling with panic. 
What. The. Fuck?
Maybe it was the alcohol, but I almost said the three words I’d avoided
saying my entire life. Words I never thought I’d say to Jules. But in the
moment, they’d felt so natural they almost escaped without me realizing it. 
They weren’t the result of sudden, blinding clarity the way they were in
movies. There’d been no meaningful eye contact at the end of a deep
conversation, no special kiss at the end of a magical date. 
Instead, they were the culmination of a million small moments—the way
Jules tried to distract me with her fish propaganda declaration during Finding
Nemo, her quiet sympathy when I told her about my patient’s death, the way
she tasted and fit against me like she was the last piece in the jigsaw puzzle of

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my life. 
Somehow, she’d gone from the last person I wanted to be around to the
first person I turned to when I needed comfort or just someone to talk to.
I wished I could say I didn’t know how I ended up here, but I’d been on a
slow, steady march toward this moment since our first kiss. Hell, maybe even
before that, with Vermont and our clinic truce. 
I’d just been too blind to notice the destination in my GPS had changed. 
Ten minutes ago, the burglary had consumed my thoughts; now, it was
barely a blip on my radar.
I had a much bigger problem to deal with.